


The Long Road to Freedom

by MTibbs89



Series: Journey to the East short stories [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Non-Sexual Slavery, Physical Abuse, Slavery, Suspense, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTibbs89/pseuds/MTibbs89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Escaping Dren Plantation was only the first step. Only when she is out of Dren's reach will Habasi truly be free. But when she meets an elf who claims he can help her, can he really be trusted?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Road to Freedom

13 Morning Star, 3E 416

9:30 am

 

            Bragor’s teeth chattered noisily as he shivered in the icy breeze. Though he was chilled to the bone, he didn’t much care; in his hands were two large sticky buns covered in warm, white frosting, freshly nicked from the bakery. The chef had run after him, screaming at the top of her lungs, but he had managed to slip away, as he had done for nearly seven years, ever since he was nine. Looking around to ensure no one had followed him, he leaned back against an alley wall, slid down to his haunches, and took a greedy mouthful of one of the sweet rolls.

           Warmth seemed to flood through his body as the morsel hit his stomach and he gave a satisfied groan. There was nothing better than Dorvesi’s rolls on a cold winter’s day. He tapped his feet happily, admiring his ratty shoes as he finished off the first of the sweets. These, he had stolen a few weeks ago. One didn’t fit so well, as it had been made for a foot far larger than his own, but he had been unable to find any other boot trimmed in such spectacular white fur. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to get its twin before their owner had chased him off with a broom. The other shoe fit him a good deal better, but wasn’t quite so warm and must have been made for a woman—it was a soft blue, adorned with flaxen flowers and a sharp heel.

            “’TCHOO!”

            The elf nearly dropped the second treat as he jumped about a foot into the air, his wide chocolate eyes darting about for any sign of the intruder. He had thought he was alone. “… Hello?” A movement caught his eye in the far corner in the back of the alley. It looked like some sort of furry animal had just ducked behind one of the crates there. Curious, he stalked over to the creature.

            “Sss, go away!” A voice hissed from the shadows.

            It was a Khajiit— a rather young one, at that—shivering in the cold. He wasn’t sure how old she was, but he guessed she couldn’t be older than fourteen. One look at her appearance—the matted brown fur around her wrists, the lack of clothes, the scars that cut thin bald patches in her pelt—told him that she was an escaped slave. Suran was a terrible place for escaped slaves. “Come on out.” He said in a soothing voice, “I won’t hurt you.”

            “This one is not believing that. All soft skins wish only to hurt us!” She snapped, her yellow eyes flashing. He jumped back, a little unsettled by the fury in her gaze, but she seemed too weak and pitiful to pose much of a threat. Almost as if to confirm this, she sneezed again, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

            He quirked a brow, bemused, and then looked down at the sticky treat in his hands. “You look hungry. Guess you haven’t eaten much, have you? Here.” He held out his last sweet roll, waiting for her to take it. “Come on, then, I won’t bite.”

            After a moment of deliberation, the Khajiit snatched the roll from his hands, tearing into it voraciously. In less than a minute she had finished, licking her finger tips to get every last crumb. When she noticed him staring at her, she quickly averted her gaze, apparently embarrassed, and gripped absently at her right ear. “Thanks.” She mumbled the word so it was almost inaudible.

            “Don’t mention it.” An awkward silence hung on the air between them. In an attempt to cut the tension, Bragor spoke up. “So.. you’re a slave, right? A runaway?”

            It was more like clipping a tripwire. She snarled, her ears lying flat and her fur fluffing up so she looked nearly twice her actual size. “Why?! Is it wishing to turn this one in, hmm? Make a hefty _profit_?”

            “No, no!” Bragor said quickly, holding his hands up defensively. “But others around here might. Suran’s full of slave traders and mercenaries who would love to return you to your owner.”

            “Owner?!” She snapped, “This one is not a pet! And she is not even a slave. Not any longer. This one escaped and she is not going back.”

            “Well, you came to the wrong place. It’s not exactly a big city. Someone’s bound to notice you, and then you’ll be sent right back to... where ever it is you came from. One of the plantations, right? You don’t look like a house slave.”

            She bristled. “You think this one is a fool? She only just met you. There is no way she will be telling you who her master—her _former_ master—is, or where he lives.”

            “Ok, ok. No need to bite my head off.” He griped. He was tempted to just leave her on her own, with that attitude, but something held him in place. He had been around Suran long enough to know how they treated escaped slaves. They didn’t even treat the obedient ones well. If he could help just one, however hostile she appeared to be… “Come on.”

***

            Habasi stared at the Bosmer’s outstretched hand, then studied his face intently. It was difficult to judge the expressions of men and mer. They had no fur to be ruffled, tails to twitch, or swiveling ears to flick, all of which made it much easier to read intentions, if you were properly attuned to them. He hadn’t hurt her, yet. He knew she was a slave and hadn’t raised the alarm. He had even fed her, even though it looked like he was just as malnourished as she was.

            She had to admit, given how little she trusted him, it had been unwise to take food from him—she had just been so hungry, and the treat had smelled so good. It could have been poisoned, yet she had suffered no ill effects in the time they had been talking. “Where does it wish to take this one?” She said at last. Realizing she had been stroking her ear again, she firmly lowered her hand, instead gripping her elbow.

            He looked around, apparently unsure of the answer himself, before responding simply. “Away from Suran.”

            Her ears folded back, “Why?”

            “Because for some stupid reason, I want to help you. If that’s a problem, fine. I’ll let you get out on your own.”

            She was about to tell him that it was very much a problem. She had gotten herself this far, hadn’t she? Perhaps she would have trusted another Khajiit, or even an Argonian, but she had never seen a Mer slave. He couldn’t possibly understand her position! But she knew she was in a bad place. As the Bosmer had said, there were plenty of people here who would turn her in for profit, or even as a misguided sense of ‘duty’ and ‘honor.’ There was a reason she had been hiding behind some crates in an alley.

            She had come to the town late at night, guided by the wavering pinpricks of lantern light in the distance. Even then she’d had to dodge guards tromping around in heavy armor, wary of their blades. Could she really expect to get out without help?

            “Fine!” She snapped. “Lead the way.”

            His lips turned up in a half-smile. “Good! My name’s Bragor, by the way. What’s yours?” Again, he extended his hand out to her. She didn’t take it, instead regarding it as she would a snake. He lowered it, frowning. “Or I could just call you ‘slave’ or ‘Khajiit,’ or even ‘furball,’ if it makes you comfortable.”

            She glowered. She had heard there was much power in a name. But he had already given his. What was the harm in reciprocating? Besides, he had a point; she would much rather be called by name than by her race or class, as her masters had done. She sighed. “Habasi.”

            “Alright, Habasi, let’s…” He looked her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time. “Actually, we should probably get you some clothes, first… Stay here, I’ll be right back, I promise.” Before she could say another word, he was gone.

            Gripping her ear, she returned to her hiding place, sitting down and wrapping her arms around her knees, curling her tail over her toes to help warm them. She wondered if this was really a good idea. What if he came back, not with clothing, but with guards? Maybe she should hide somewhere else? Keep an eye on the alley from a different vantage point? She hoped he could be trusted.

***

            Bragor ducked through back alleys, shirking the watchful eye of the guards as he made his way to the residential district. There should be clothes hanging to dry outside _someone’s_ house. Although, it was winter; most people would likely have their clothing hung near the hearth. That meant he would have to sneak into somebody’s home.

            He had to wonder if a Khajiit he barely knew was worth the risk. If he got caught stealing, then he would be carted off to prison and his sacrifice would be in vain. But he’d already made a promise, hadn’t he? He thought back to that alley, imagining Habasi waiting there for hours, terrified. He saw her losing patience as it grew dark, wandering out to look for him, only to get captured by a mercenary. His gut twisted at the thought.

            Gathering his resolve, he continued his search, peering into windows as he passed them by. Finally, at the dozenth house he came across, he saw a nice selection of clothing hanging by the fireplace. Pressing his nose against the glass, he peeked around to ensure nobody was inside before sliding it open and slipping through. “Hello..?” He called. If someone responded, he would bolt for the door and try somewhere else. When nobody did, he relaxed and approached the clothing line.

            The shirts and pants hung here looked expensive, made of silks and thick wool of varying colors. He glanced down at his own rags, thinking. A Bosmer in fancy clothing was uncommon in Vvardenfell, but not unheard of. A Khajiit, however, would raise suspicion in anything more than sack cloth. Especially in places like Suran, where the beast folk were automatically presumed to be slaves. Wasting no time, he shed his own clothing and changed into the beige pants and velvety, russet-and-green shirt he plucked from the clothesline. Though they were clearly of a quality make, he figured the earthy colors would be less flashy and less likely to get him unwanted attention.

            The clothes were still damp, and a bit large on him, but he was able to fix the latter with a broad leather belt. He cast a last, longing gaze at his mismatched shoes he had set aside as he put on a pair of boots to complete his look, then took a moment to tidy his curly hair, tying it back with a green ribbon before heading out, his old rags rolled up neatly under his arm.

***

            Habasi buried her nose in the crook of her arm to stifle a sneeze as she watched the entrance to the alley from the branches of a nearby tree. She wondered what could be taking Bragor so long. If he had intended to fetch the guards, or slave hunters, he would surely be back with them by now, pockets weighed down with gold for his efforts. If he could be trusted, then where was he? He had looked like a thief, or a beggar. Maybe he’d had to steal her clothes, because he couldn’t afford to buy them? Maybe he had gotten caught? She felt her pulse quicken, the blood pounding in her ears.

            Seconds seemed to pass like hours as she watched the streets below, doing her best to keep out of sight. Just as she was about to give up on him, wondering if he had simply decided to leave her there, she spotted him. He appeared to have changed his clothes.

            “Habasi…?” She heard him hiss as he slunk into the alleyway. “I’m back… where are you?”

            She looked up and down the street hastily, and when she saw no one coming, she scrambled down from her perch and into the shadows beside the elf.

            “Oh! There you are. Here,” he handed out the bundle of clothes he’d been holding onto. “See if these fit.”

            She took them hesitantly, gagging as she got a whiff of them. “Pfew! These reek!”

            “They smell better than you do.” He retorted. “Just put them on.”

            “These are _your_ old clothes.” She complained.

            “Well, yes. The only clothing I could find were fancy, like these,” He gestured to his new outfit. “I didn’t think they would suit you.”

            She glared.

            “No, no, I didn’t mean— it’s just— the guards around here probably wouldn’t give you a second glance if you’re in commoner’s clothing. But they would definitely be suspicious if they saw you in anything expensive.”

            She sighed. He had a point. She pulled the shirt on over her head, nearly sticking her arm through a gaping tear instead of a sleeve, and then slid into the pants. They felt awkward, rubbing her fur the wrong way and making her itch, but she appreciated the slight warmth they offered.

            “Ready?”

            She really wasn’t: she was terrified. She nodded anyway. It was now or never. “First, this one has an idea.”

            Bragor raised a brow, clearly unconvinced, “Alright, let’s hear it.”

            She took the rope Bragor had initially been using as a belt and tested its length. Satisfied, she wrapped it around her wrists. She hated the sensation, but knew she could easily slip out of the ‘bonds’ if she needed to. She handed the other end to Bragor, who just looked confused. “They will know this one is a slave, anyway, yes? Why not sell it?”

            “Alright,” He said slowly, taking the rope, “I guess if they see what they expect to see, there’ll be no need for them to investigate, right?” Habasi nodded. “This might work. Let’s go.”

***

            They weren’t traveling long before Habasi noticed a guard staring at them. Trying not to panic, she averted her gaze, only glancing back occasionally to see if he had moved on. He hadn’t. In fact, she was certain he was following them. So much for blending in… Discretely as she could, she nudged the small of Bragor’s back, bringing the guard to his attention with a jerk of her head.

            “B’vek!” He cursed.

            Fighting back the bile that rose in her gut, she tried to think of a plan. She was already playing the part of a slave. No, she _was_ a slave, much as she hated to admit it, and until she reached safety, she wouldn’t be anything else. The guard probably suspected that Bragor wasn’t her master. They would have to play it off. “Tell him Bragor is hunting her—returning her to her master.” She hissed.

            “What—” Bragor looked as panicked as she felt.

            “Hit Habasi. It will look like she is back-talking.” She mumbled.

            “I don’t—”

            “Do it!” She snapped as the guard got closer, “Hit her!” She jerked back on the rope. “Tell her she is slave scum and must be quiet! Strike her, now!” Suddenly pain exploded across her face and she found herself crumpled on the ground, hands clasped over her cheek where Bragor had backhanded her.

            “Silence, slave!” Bragor snarled. Though he had only done as she had told him to, both the words and the slap had stung.

            “Is there a problem, here?” Drawled the guard as he reached them, crossing his arms. He almost looked amused.

            “I-I’m just returning this slave to her rightful master, sera.” Bragor stammered.

            “Sera?’ How quaint. You don’t talk like a bounty hunter. Or look like one, for that matter.”

            “I’m new to it,” Bragor seemed to be calming down, for which Habasi was thankful, “I just got sick of seeing all these dirty animals trying to fight the natural order of things.” Habasi glared, but held her tongue.

            “Indeed?” The guard eyed the rope around Habasi’s wrists. “Then you may wish to tie a better knot.” It was all Habasi could do to keep herself from scrambling away as he bent down, tying the rope securely about her wrists. “There, that should do it. Now. Do you have the proper authorization papers?”

            “Papers?” Bragor said nervously. Habasi’s heart sank.

            “You need a license or a document signed by the slave’s owner to transport a slave that isn’t your own.”

            Maybe she should just get up and run, now? Cut her losses? It was looking more and more like they had been caught in their lie. All she could do was watch Bragor, and hope he could get them out of this; she couldn’t speak up, or it would certainly give them away.

            “I wasn’t aware of that,” Bragor said slowly, “I’m very sorry for wasting your time, sera, but could you please tell me where I could get such a license? I wouldn’t want to break any laws in my haste to bring justice to these slaves.”

            _Ok, Bragor, don’t over play it,_ Habasi thought.

            The guard regarded them skeptically, before heaving an annoyed sigh. “You can find the proper documentation at the slave market. Talk to Dranas Sarathram. He can get you set up. You’ll need to show the papers to me or another guard before you leave Suran. Now, allow me to offer you a free word of advice: don’t turn your back on it for one second. These beasts can’t be trusted.”

            With that he turned on his heel and marched away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Habasi hissed at his retreating form. “Renrij bastard.”

            “Come on,” Bragor said, helping her to her feet. “We should get over to Dranas.”

            “What?!”

            “You heard the guard. We need the papers. I don’t think we can leave Suran without them.”

            Habasi stared into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception. They had gotten this far, hadn’t they? If Bragor really wanted to cause her trouble, he probably would have handed her to the guard then and there, possibly making a profit in the process. Going to a slave market, though… She shuddered. She wasn’t sure she could handle that.

            “This _was_ your idea, Habasi, and it might have just saved your life. You don’t trust me. I get that. But if we’re going to get you out of here, you should at least try to.”

            “Fine… how do you propose we’ll be getting those papers, hmm?”

***

            The Suran slave market was located on the northeastern corner of town, right alongside the pawnbroker and fine clothier, as if buying a _person_ was no different than purchasing a new dress. Though these buildings were as clean and prominent as any manor in the noble district, it felt seedy to Habasi, like that ‘House of Earthly Delights’ she had passed by when she had sneaked into the town. As they entered, a sense of dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

            She watched as Bragor pocketed some coins from a lock box on the counter before getting Dranas’ attention. He told them to wait while he busied himself with papers at his desk. Habasi nervously glanced around, eyeing the many cells that lined the walls, Khajiits and Argonians, along with the occasional Orc resting behind their bars, their expressions blank. She averted her gaze as the ‘merchant’ drew near, surveying her like a cut of meat—a particularly poor cut at that.

            Dranas turned his attention to Bragor, fixing him with a smile that looked painful and speaking in an oily voice. “Welcome, welcome! Will you be buying, selling, or trading?”

            “Uhh… Actually, I was hoping to get a license to hunt down and recapture slaves. Apparently, I can’t return this one without it.”

            “Ah, an escapee, is it?” His eyes again flitted to Habasi. She could feel them boring into her. “Do you know where this one came from?”

            “She wouldn’t tell me.”

            “Of course, of course,” Dranas simpered, “Such things usually require _force_. Fortunately, I have an eye for this sort of thing. This one doesn’t have the build of a house slave, for instance. Judging by the rough calluses its hands, I would say it belongs to one of the mines or plantations…” Suddenly, before she could retreat, Dranas was gripping her by the jaw, turning her head left and right, up and down. He grasped the back of her head firmly so that she couldn’t wriggle away and peeled open her eyelids, first the right, then the left, inspecting her eyes closely. “Mhmm, looks like a healthy specimen, so far, excluding a mild case of ataxia. I’m beginning to suspect it doesn’t belong to a mine.” He chuckled as if he had just told a joke.

            Just as he was prying her jaws open to get a look at her teeth, rage took over and she chomped down on his fingers, a snarl erupting from her throat. He howled in pain as he jerked his arm back, and for the second time that day, Habasi found herself on the floor, gripping her face where she had been hit. Dranas had struck her far harder than Bragor had. She had known as soon as her teeth met flesh that it had been a bad idea, but by then it had been too late.

            “Feh. Spirited little s’wit, isn’t it?” He casually examined his long fingers, which were dripping with blood, before reaching for a leather crop resting on the counter.

***

            “You didn’t have to hit her!” Bragor growled. His hands were balled into fists and he was shaking. Habasi flashed him a warning look behind Dranas’ back. _Right._ He had to keep it together. He forced himself into a more relaxed stance, meeting the Dunmer’s sharp gaze. “I-I mean… did you? I’m new to all of this. I could use any advice you can offer.”

            “… Clearly.” Dranas said with a raised brow, as he unceremoniously twirled the crop in his fingers. “This line of work isn’t for the weak.” Without a hint of warning, he swiped the crop across Habasi’s cheek, causing it to bleed. It was all Bragor could do to keep himself still as the Dunmer continued. “Few Westers can handle it.” He spoke calmly and struck her again, this time on the upper arm. “You should realize that it’s just an animal, and like all animals, it requires proper training.” Again. “Training requires discipline.” He struck her one last time, this time hard enough to make her scream. Bragor firmly bit the inside of his cheeks as the Dunmer faced him, smirking. “Now…” Dranas seized Habasi’s upper arm like a vice, forcing her to turn around, “Ah, see?” He cooed as he ripped off her shirt, “Its former master disciplined it quite well.”

            Bragor felt like he was going to be sick. He had noticed the small cuts along Habasi’s arms when he had first seen her in the alley, but this was just atrocious. There was almost no fur left on her back, so much skin had been stripped away over the years from the lashes. All that remained were ugly scars, some strung across her back like thick ropes, others thinner, almost blending in. Some were still red and bruised. A symbol the size of his hand had been burned into her shoulder, which had been carefully untouched by the warden’s whip.

            “Ah-hah!” Dranus pressed a bony finger into it, “Here’s the brand. Let me see…” He turned to a thick tome on the counter and began flitting through it, tutting to himself. “Mhmm, as I suspected. It would appear this is one of Dren’s slaves. My cousin does a lot of business with Dren. He pays very well…” He smiled. “You could sell her to me, if you like, and we could both profit quite handsomely from it. How does… _one thousand drakes_ sound?”

            Habasi made a little noise in her throat. Her eyes darted between the two, wide with fear.

            Bragor scowled, “No.” He crossed his arms, reminding himself that he had to make a convincing argument as Dranus fixed him with a hard, disbelieving stare. “I want to go into business for myself. I can make a much better profit down the line if I invest in a license. In fact, if Dren pays as well as you suggest, I’ll bet he would more than cover the license fee.”

            Dranus glared, his lips pursed. Bragor got the feeling he was contemplating murder. Why pay for the slave when he could take her by force? But he suspected that could be bad for business. In the end, the elf would care more about profits. He couldn’t make money if he was in jail. “Very well,” he snapped, “The documentation will be two hundred drakes.”

            Well, that was easier than he’d expected. He didn’t want to risk haggling; he was lucky this was working out at all. Rummaging in his pockets, Bragor fished out the coin. Some of it he’d had on him this morning. Some, he had swiped at the bakery and again when he had stolen clothes for Habasi. The rest he had filched from the very man he was paying. He carefully avoided smirking at the thought as he handed it over for Dranus to count.

            “Hmph. Yes. Two hundred drakes.” Dranus sniffed, tossing the coin carelessly into his lockbox and making his way to the stack of papers he had been busy with when they had walked in. “Come here and we’ll get your license in order.”

***

            Habasi waited as they filled out the paperwork, amazed that their plan was going so well. She couldn’t help but wonder, yet again, if she could actually trust Bragor. Sure, he had seemed sincere enough in his concern, outraged when she had been beaten, but maybe he as just good at acting? Perhaps the only person being fooled here was her. If the Bosmer decided to turn on her and drag her to Dren Plantation when he had his license, would she be able to see through the deception in time to escape?

            The rope about her wrists suddenly felt tighter and despite the warmth of the fire roaring in Dranas’ fireplace, a cold shiver rattled her bones. She couldn’t imagine what horrors awaited her if Dren ever got his hands on her; he didn’t tolerate insubordination. She jumped when Bragor spoke up, “Alright, slave, we’re leaving.” He already had her by the rope. She simply nodded and followed numbly.

            If she was relieved to be out of the slave market, it was overshadowed by her nerves and the freezing wind. Of course it was natural for her to feel this way. Had she even trusted her fellow slaves? There had been some, like Ahzini, who had been almost like family to her, but others would have sold her out for a pat on the head. She attempted to calm herself by telling herself that Bragor was different. He had done nothing but help her since they had met. But the truth was she knew nothing about him beyond the fact that he was a thief. And thieves didn’t care about anything more than profit.

            “Are you alright?” Bragor asked quietly, cutting into her thoughts.

            “What? Why?”

            “That dark elf-- he hit you.” Bragor clarified, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot, “I was just making sure you weren’t hurt too badly.”

            “Oh…” She said, taken aback. She rubbed her jaw where she felt a bruise forming. She was sore all over, but she was largely used to pain, and had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t really been paying much attention to it. “Yes. Habasi is fine.” She focused on her feet, ears tilting back as she added, “Thanks for asking.”

            “Good.” He smiled, and it made his eyes glitter. It looked so genuine it was almost infectious. “You know I didn’t mean those things I said in there, right?” She looked down and didn’t answer. He sighed in frustration, “Well, anyway, we should probably get going. Just keep up the act a bit longer and we can put Suran behind us.”

            “‘We’…?”

            “Well, once they figure out I’ve helped you escape, I can’t very well show my face around here again, can I? They’ll be looking for me, too.”

            She stared at him. She honestly hadn’t thought of that. Why was he going so far out of his way to help her, then? She didn’t know much about him, but Suran must be his home. As far as she knew, he liked it here, yet he was willing to put it behind him for a perfect stranger? It was a foreign concept, one that nagged at the back of her mind as they made their way to the front gates.

            “Hold!” A guard barked as they approached, holding out a hand to stop them. “Does this slave belong to you, _sera_?” He said the last word in mock respect.

            “No,” Bragor held out the papers for the guard to see, “But I have a license right here that says I can return her to her rightful master.”

            The guard snatched the papers and scrutinized them so closely his nose almost touched the parchment. His eyes narrowed, “These look to be in order…” He sniffed, clearly frustrated that they weren’t fake. “Move along.”

            “Thank you, sera.” Bragor’s tone was almost as sarcastic as the guard’s had been as the pair slunk by. The Dunmer stiffened, but did not react, clearly thinking them unworthy of further attention. Finally they were out of the city. Things were beginning to look up.

***

            They had been walking for over an hour before Bragor stopped. “Ok, I think we’re far enough away now.” He glanced back in the direction they had come from, where Suran was but a tiny speck. “I think we can remove your binding.”

            “It is about time!” Habasi hissed. She understood the precaution, of course. It had been her idea in the first place. In order to keep up the rouse, they had to keep her hands bound. It was highly unlikely a bounty hunter would let his captive traipse around freely. However, the rope chafed and had only served to fuel her fears.

            She held out her hands and Bragor began to work at the knots. Immense relief washed over her as they fell away. Perhaps the elf wasn’t so bad, after all. She didn’t know why she was so surprised, looking back on it. Bragor hadn’t given her any reason _not_ to trust him, had he? Did she really have to be so difficult? She flinched when the Bosmer spoke up.

            “Well… I guess we can go our separate ways, now.” He looked toward the western horizon, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… keep off the main road and get as far away from the plantations as possible.”

            “Wait!” Habasi said, her hand involuntarily flinging out to grasp Bragor’s arm.

            “Hmm?”

            “It’s… Habasi just…” She sighed. She hated being so vulnerable, but Bragor had proven himself to be a friend. Besides, it was better to expose her weakness now and improve her chances of survival than to put on a brave face and die alone somewhere. “She wanted to thank you for the help. And she does not wish to be a burden; it is just that she does not know where to go. And… and she is afraid.”

            He blinked a few times, apparently taken aback. “Wow. Took a lot for you to admit that, huh?”

            She didn’t answer. She suspected she didn’t have to.

            “Alright, you can come with me… under one condition.”

            She cocked her head to the side. “What is that?”

            He held out his hand. “We start over, on better terms. My name’s Bragor. What’s yours?”

            She fought the desire to roll her eyes, instead smiling for perhaps the first time in years. She grasped his hand and shook it in a proper greeting, “This one is Habasi,” After a moment’s hesitation she added, “It is good to meet you.” She found that she actually meant it.

            “Likewise,” he grinned. “Come on then.”

            “Where to?” For once, she didn’t have a plan. She had planned on escape, and freedom, but had no clue where she would go once she had attained them.

            “I was thinking Balmora,” he said, “It’s far enough away from Suran that they probably won’t follow us. If they do, I hear there are some Imperial guilds there. Imperials are sympathetic to slaves and they might be able to protect us if we join them.”

            She nodded. “Balmora it is, then.” She wasn’t sure any guilds would actually take in a skinny elf beggar and an escape slave, but it was a better option than wandering aimlessly, waiting to get recaptured and dragged off to a fate worse than death. With a clear goal in mind and some semblance of a plan, the two ventured northwest, each hoping for a brighter future.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a first draft. Any constructive criticism is welcome, as always. Parts of this feel 'too easy' to me, so if you could offer suggestions on how to make things more exciting, particularly in the slave market and with the guards, I would love to hear them.


End file.
